


Fantasies

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Get it together Nezumi, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24682510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Nezumi's in No.3.His head and heart are not.
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Fantasies

Nezumi was nothing if not skilled at self-denial.

Physically, it was easy enough to imagine Shion being Shion while Nezumi had a hand around himself in the privacy of a cheap hotel somewhere in No.3.

Physically, it was easy enough— more than easy—it was _reflexive_ , to imagine tangling his fingers in soft white hair, pulling Shion closer. Physical made sense. Nezumi’s body reacted the way it was intended to; his cheeks flushed, and his pulse quickened like he was about to perform for a crowd he actually cared about.

This was typical. Normal. Something to stave off the cold for a few heated moments.

This was Nezumi, alone, hand on his dick, but this was also Nezumi, safe and comfortable in the underground room. Arching his back and pushing his dick past Shion’s lips, closed tight and ready and warm. This was _Shion_ , or at least an _idea_ of Shion— the Shion Nezumi might have had the chance to see if he’d responded to any of his quiet burning glances the way his body begged to.

He’d have spit on his chin; he’d be messy and loud, and Nezumi wouldn’t be able to look away from him. Fuck, Shion was so messy and loud, in everything he did. He would clunk around the underground room like a clumsy bear, knocking over his book piles with his hip or ass, sending the mice to scatter in the abrupt earthquake.

Nezumi would make him louder. He’d make him yell, because Shion would be so perfect in his imperfect way and he’d take Nezumi _apart_ , suck him until they were nothing but heat and energy and silence.

Nezumi wrenched his hand away, stopped moving his hips and covered his eyes, breathing. Tried to calm down; this was a mistake. More than a mistake, this was so fucking stupid. It was too much and too bright and too intense and too terrifying. He couldn’t have Shion like this. Even in his head.

Selfish. It _violated_ something. Some stupid thread of trust between them, miles and miles apart.

_Why would it do that?_ Shion asked, somewhere, in a partial disconnected memory. His voice was gentle. Honest.

Nezumi shut his eyes, trying to will the memory away. But Shion was impossible to ignore; white hair in a sea of black, a scream in a perfect city, a warm body in a world that was so frozen and wet and dark.

Nezumi wanted. Stupidly, hopelessly. He wanted when he wasn’t supposed to and couldn’t allow himself to. So, he lied to himself. He shut his eyes, made excuses; grabbed his flagging dick and shoved his worries in a box labelled “Later or Never”.

He called the Shion in his memory closer. Pulled him to the cheap hotel bed that creaked too much and whispered in his ear. “You can do whatever you want to me,” and it wasn’t at all terrifying, because Shion wasn’t really here. Shion wasn’t here so Nezumi could have him however liked even though he was the one telling _Shion_ to do what he wanted.

Nezumi’s breath caught, imagining Shion’s eager eyes on him, undressing him. His hands on Nezumi’s bare skin. Shion would lean close and graze his teeth and lips against his jaw in the rush to touch. He’d slot their hips together, and his dick would be as hard as Nezumi’s and they’d thrust and slide against each other—Nezumi’s hand was moving fast now, his fantasy losing focus. It blurred into soft images: Shion’s freshly calloused hands, his shirt bunching up to show off his scar, physical proof of his unshakable, idiotic, incredible, iron will.

Nezumi hadn’t touched Shion’s chest like this, never had the chance to feel him under his clothes like this, and that fact seemed completely foolish right now, that he was alone and picturing it. He wanted Shion’s skin against his, wanted to rock with him and hear his breath catch as Nezumi played with his dick. He would be so impossibly good, even if he was fast, sloppy, overeager. Especially if he was. He made Nezumi want to be. Could he tell?

This was _Shion_ , after all. Nezumi indulged, emphasizing the thought like it was something he could feel, memorize, repeat. His eyes shut tight, breath quickening as he tightened his grip around himself, sloppily moving his hips. Fuck. He wanted him. Right now, just like this. He didn’t dare speak. Speaking was stupid, saying Shion’s name was stupid. He wasn’t here. He was in the city. He wasn’t here—

—But he was here _enough_ , right now. Because Nezumi needed him, like this, today. Needed a Shion miles and miles away from home, in a city that was dark and cold and nothing like he expected. The streets of No. 3 were cracked and sandy, and it looked like a nuclear apocalypse happened here because it had. Because that was the world, the world Nezumi cut himself away to see; the world that he _chose_ : broken, silent, and empty.

The bed was so cold, and it was still cold when he pictured Shion laying down next to him, wrapping his hand around his own, slowing him down. Nezumi swallowed, aching, because this Shion wasn’t _the_ Shion, wasn’t _his_ Shion, but he would have to do, because flights were expensive and Nezumi wasn’t ready because Nezumi was scared so fucking terrified and—

This Shion would hold his head while they fucked, he’d cup Nezumi’s cheeks and kiss his hair. Gentle and careful, he’d pull Nezumi into him, pull his face into the spot where it could be safe and secret between his neck and shoulder. Nezumi let himself melt into that image, moaning softly; face in the pillow. This Shion’s arms tightened around him, keeping the shame of daring to make a sound far away. His breath was in his ear, because Nezumi wanted it there. It was where it belonged.

Shion had held him like this before and it’d felt so good, even though Nezumi had felt hollow then. Shion had held him while Nezumi sobbed into his chest. Shion had squeezed him until the parts of Nezumi that had shattered and caved in impossibly rebuilt and reformed.

Nezumi felt love then. The same feeling he felt now, impossibly warm and bright in his chest. He—

—Regretted. The feeling broke through, jagged and ugly. As sharp as a knife at his throat because this was the wrong memory to pull at, because there had been blood too much blood and—

Nezumi opened his eyes, saw the ceiling. No. 3. He was there. Reset. Shut his eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Fuck.

This Shion would kiss him, and Nezumi would return it. Nezumi would want Shion to take over, close his hand around his dick, but more than that he’d want Shion to take his hand; look him in the eye and slowly open his fist with his fingers; weave himself between them like he wove himself into Nezumi’s heart. Steadily, persistently.

His hand was empty. Nezumi clutched the bedsheets, warm enough. The back of his head hit the pillow as he arched, good enough. His voice caught, and he jacked himself off rough and cruel but then slowed himself down again because Shion wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t want him like that probably. He forced his palm to close tight, move slow, gentle, unlike himself, until he felt himself let go, releasing into his hand, wet and warm.

Silence.

“Fuck,” he said, out loud, if only to drown out that nothing sound.

He felt the frantic energy of the room quietly break and disperse even though his fantasy wasn’t that stable to begin with. The sounds of the world around him became clear; the wind outside the window, the creak of the bed under him. His own ragged breathing.

He blinked a few times. Sniffed once. Half-heartedly wiped his hand on the sheets, and then his rubbed his wrist against his damp eyes.

“Why did I do that?” he mumbled, berating himself.

His voice sounded odd and unsteady, and he rolled onto his side, folding inward. Knees pulled to his chest, just breathing. He was so exhausted he couldn’t manage the appropriate amount of vitriol he figured he should be feeling. Instead he just felt kind of warm.

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe this is the first no.6 smut I've completed and it's sad Nezumi jackin it
> 
> Get it together, Nezumi.


End file.
